


The World Is Not Enough

by eyemeohmy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Comedy, Crack, Drabbles Collection, Gore, Horror, M/M, Romance, Sexuality, Unrequited Love, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:41:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 10,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Sentinel/Proteus (and a few other pairs) drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for memes and friends. Contains a variety of genres. I'll add more tags as I go.
> 
> Title is from the song by Garbage.
> 
> For some reason, AO3 seems to be removing my italics, but I'm too lazy to replace them all. :T

Prompt was: "Shit, are you bleeding?"

\---

The place is in an uproar. Soldiers and police officers race across the council chambers, evacuating people and hunting down the source of the sniper attack.

Sentinel remains calm as a group of his men herd him to safety, serving as living, breathing shields. Their guns are raised; they bark orders, and reassure the Prime everything will be taken care of, not to worry.

Sentinel isn’t worried. He’s more annoyed, if anything. But he goes along with his fellows, taken into a secure room. They can’t leave the premises until the assailant has been caught. Sentinel is tempted to overthrow that rule. But it’s protocol, and he has to be the good Prime society is suppose to trust, so might as well play along.

Fortunately, Sentinel isn’t alone. His second shadow arrived earlier than him. Proteus stands from his seat at a small bar—this panic room is more like a fancy hotel suite. He takes a sip from his oiltini as he looks over Sentinel; puts it down.

"Quite the day," the senator smirks, "not exactly how I thought the meeting would be adjourned."

Sentinel grunts.

Proteus crosses the room. “Let me see. They said it wasn’t too bad. At least, not for someone like you,” he says. Sentinel allows Proteus to turn his head, shows him the wound left from the blast that grazed him. It’s taken out a chunk of his right finial, leaving behind a clean slice of cleared armor from temple to the very back of his head.

"Oh, scrap," Proteus sighs, "you’re bleeding."

It’s not much. Just a broken fuel line. The blast took out armor, but did not get to the layers of dermal plating beneath. Oil and energon trickle down the side of his head, droplets pip-patting down on one giant pauldron.

Proteus gathers a rag from an emergency supply cabinet, filled with anything and everything they would need (and thensome) that would last them at least a decade if there were some sort of Hellish apocalyptic event.

Sentinel instinctively dips his head, allowing Proteus better access to wipe and clean the mess away. “Here,” Proteus says, lowering the rag. He caresses the torn finial. “Poor little Prime. You must have been so scared.”

At that, Sentinel smirks.


	2. First & Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts were first and last kisses on an angst meme.

For the past fifteen minutes, Sentinel has stood ramrod straight before Proteus’s desk, his face impassive and serious; not a twitch, not a single noise. He follows his namesake to a tee.

Though intimidating to others, Proteus casually lounges in his chair, as if he forgot Sentinel  was even standing there, looming over him. He sifts through the datapads, the reports, the  graphic photos of violence, mayhem, and conspiracy, his tiny smile very occasionally quirking when he sees something especially pleasing.

The way Proteus looks at a photo of the former and now dearly departed senator from Vos, with his head missing, laying in a puddle of his own fluids, his limbs twisted up like gnarled Scarvix tree branches—hooded optics, that smile… His expression is that of glee and relief. The sort of relief one feels after finally killing an  annoying fly buzzing around their head for a while.

Finally, almost twenty minutes later, Proteus exvents and places the datapads down, spreading them out like a deck of cards; a hand with a full house, and he’s won. “Very commendable job, as usual, Sentinel,” he says, rising from his chair.

Sentinel, after keeping still like a statue for so long, nods. “Thank you, sir,” he replies.

"I’ve kept you long enough. Your hatchlings must be worried. You’re dismissed."

Sentinel nods again and turns to leave—

"Wait."

Sentinel stops.

"Just one more thing."

Sentinel hears footfalls drew near, and when he turns, Proteus is standing before him. He looks down to meet the smaller mech’s playful gaze. “I’d like to reward you for all your hard work. You’ve done so much for me the past few deca-cycles, I think I owe you a little more than a clip of credits, don’t you think?”

Sentinel’s face remains stoic. “My compensation is fine, sir.”

Proteus smirks. “Let me share something with you. Something I learned on Nebulous. It’s a tradition of theirs; unique to us, but common to them. Now.” He fearlessly presses a finger beneath Sentinel’s chin. “If you’ll just bend to optic level, please…” Proteus’s finger slightly curls forward, beckoning. Commanding.

Sentinel obeys. He leans down until he’s finally face to face with Proteus, and Proteus gives him one last proud, smarmy smile before leaning in and— 

Sentinel does not react. Not visibly, at least, when the senator touches lips with his. Soft malleable armor, his mouth brushes with Sentinel’s, which remain still and unsure. Proteus leans in, and this—whatever this is—deepens a little.

Nothing happens. Nothing visible, at least. But Sentinel is equally two-faced.

Proteus steps back. “It’s called a ‘kiss,’” he explains. “Well… That was more of a caress, I believe. Kisses can be much… much more intimate.” His EM field pulses something warm and inviting, and there’s no denying what that is—what that means.

Sentinel feels a small tingle run up his backstrut. He exvents calmly and says, “I’d like to learn more.”

 

* * *

 

 

For the past fifteen minutes, Sentinel has been standing before the window, looking upon his followers, his subordinates gathered in droves below. His face is impassive and serious; not a twitch, or a single noise. His hands fold behind his back, one clutching the other.

"I’ve been summoned to an emergency meeting with the senate down in Kaon."

Proteus crosses the room, stopping beside Sentinel.

"Think you can handle things while I’m gone?"

Sentinel finally looks down at Proteus, smiling wickedly but playfully up at the Prime.

"Nothing has stood in my way before," Sentinel replies, "nor will any threat of some pitiful uprising."

Proteus huffs, rolling his shoulders irritably. “These… Decepticons are getting a bit too noisy for my liking,” he grumbles. “But we’ll take care of them.” He chuckles. “Now I’m sweeping things under the rug for  _you_.”

Sentinel wrinkles his nose. “You should go,” he retorts.

Proteus nods. “This shouldn’t take too long,” he says and turns to leave.

"But."

Proteus stops.

"Before I go."

Sentinel looks down at the senator, once more at his side. Bravely, Proteus presses a finger beneath his chin and curls the edge. Sentinel naturally bows his head, and kisses him. A kiss deep and slow and like so many others in the past. Still, it has yet to bore him. 

When they break away, mouths inches apart, Sentinel asks, almost taunting, “For luck?”

Proteus smirks. “Won’t need it.”


	3. Call Me When You're Sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For meme prompt: accidentally drove into your house because I was drunk.

Proteus liked to consider himself a connoisseur of (classy) culture. He enjoyed the finer things in life—usually they were always expensive. His collection of collectibles ranged from the sleek and simple to the absurd  _avant garde_. Call Proteus vain, but he was a prideful man and so he surrounded himself in all the riches he could get his greedy little hands on.

One of his most prized collections included two hundred different mineral specimens. Bright, bold, beautiful gemstones that inspired awe and amazement. Some Cybertronian, others from foreign, alien worlds. All of them rare and priceless. They glimmered and sparkled beneath the lights Proteus strategically installed above the glass shelves.

Proteus could stand there for hours, just admiring his lovely stones.

That was until a very large, very powerful truck came crashing through a wall, running over his mineral collection and utterly, completely destroying everything. Those not annihilated were in pieces or shattered. The truck almost ran the senator over had he not stumbled and jumped out of the way just in time.

Proteus shrieked at the sound of diamonds and gemstones cracking and turning to dust beneath the spinning, heavy wheels. Finally, the truck came to a stop, steam hissing and billowing from its engine. It did not move for a good minute, and Proteus was too in shock to do or say anything.

The truck suddenly changed; shifted and transformed until Sentinel Prime stood in its place. He turned, one foot crushing a Femax ruby. His expression was dull and unimpressed as ever, but there was something definitely off with his energy signature.

It didn’t take long for Proteus to figure out what. Drunk—Sentinel was drunk.

"I am aware… now… that this is not your front door," Sentinel said, slowly, optics squinting at the giant hole in the wall and the carnage left behind. He glanced back at Proteus. "I meant to go to the front door." He neglected to add "but not crash  _through_  it,” but right now that didn’t seem to be the problem.

Proteus just stared, gaping.

Sentinel stepped back, crushing glass. “Just…” He transformed, slowly backing out of the hole he made. He started out in a straight line before slightly veering off to the side, debris scraping along a headlight. Then, he was gone.

Proteus felt coolant trickle at the corners of his optics. A second later, there was a ping from his front door.

"It’s me, Sentinel. Are you home?"


	4. Damselesque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for violence/mild gore.

Proteus sees the pure rage in his assailant’s optics, and for once in a very long time, he is horrified.

For once in a very long time, he feels threatened and helpless. Proteus can’t even speak or find the words, his jaw working but nothing coming out. The hands around his throat are tight, pinching fuel lines, pressing down on his vocalizer in a shaky vice grip.

"It’s all because of  _you_!” the mech snarls, his yellow optics nearly turning white. His teeth grind hard enough to almost shatter. All the chipped, dented, abused armor on his bulky miner frame rattles. “He wouldn’t be dead if not for you!” he screams, and coolant spittle hits Proteus’s face. He does not feel disgust, just the swinging pendulum lowering another inch.

"You selfish, sparkless—"

Proteus swallows with some effort. He knows the mech wants closure, but he doesn’t want an apology. He doesn’t want words. He wants to see Proteus’s spark shrink and wither in its chamber until he’s just another ashen grey corpse abandoned in an alley downtown.

"You killed him!" the mech cries, and it’s a choked sob. His near-white optics flash, edges prickling in lieu of tears. "You took him from me! You had no right!" He squeezes Proteus’s throat tighter; Proteus gasps, arching off the ground and against his assailant’s larger frame. " _You had no right_!”

Proteus mouths something; he knows it’s useless, but he has to try. Try and appeal to this—this thug’s good side.

The mech grinds his teeth again, and something does crack. He’s an older model, but built to last. And he intends, Proteus supposes, to outlast this selfish, sparkless senator. “I’ll kill you,” he hisses, “send you back to Hell where you be—”

"I’m afraid I can’t let you do that."

Both mechs widen their eyes; something cold presses against the back of the thug’s head. He turns to look back, gets an inch; Proteus sees a flash of gold before the mech’s brains and energon splash over his face, in his optics. He gasps as the hands let go; whether weakening, or forcefully pried off, and for a moment, the senator merely lays there, inventing heavily, furiously wiping the viscera from his face.

A large hand—a friendly, familiar one—takes him strongly by the elbow, helps him up onto his feet. Keeps him from falling over; Proteus doesn’t care that he’s covered in another mech’s lifefluids, bits of his CPU, shattered optic lenses, circuits and torn cables; he doesn’t care that he’s shaking like a leaf. He doesn’t care if Sentinel is judging him right now.

Proteus wraps his arms around himself. Low growls rumble from his turbines. Sentinel places both hands on his shoulders, almost like a blanket. “You’re in shock,” Sentinel states, his voice unwaveringly stoic.

But alive. That’s what he wants to reply with. In shock, but alive. Eventually he knows he’ll get over this; this is nothing new. Assassination attempts are nothing new. But this one felt… different. Proteus was only glad no one was around to see them. It wasn’t so much the fear of being caught beaten near to death by some low-class miner, but his raw, exposed terror. The loss of control was… to have anyone see him vulnerable and frightened like that…

But… It doesn’t bother him, he finds, when it’s Sentinel who sees.


	5. Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More stupid drunk Sentinel.

It’s been a half hour since Proteus went off on his tangent, ranting about work over dinner with the newly appointed Prime. Just yesterday, in fact. He punctuated his sentences with angry fork stabs into his food. He’s hardly noticed the giant mech sitting across from him, glaring right through Sentinel in between mashing and beating down the mineral chunks in his silicia peppered, hollowed out Trilium geode soup and knocking back huge gulps of his high grade.

It’s been almost a half hour, and Proteus was still rambling on and on with no interruption on his guest’s part. Though toward the end, Proteus did notice just how… silent Sentinel was through all this. It’s nothing unusual, of course; but something about him is off, and had he not been immersed in his own little world and its little problems, Proteus would have noticed right away. No one, on the other hand, would have thought him different from usual.

Sentinel sits ramrod straight. He glares, unblinking, at Proteus, his gaze set. Frowning as usual, one hand in his lap, another holding a utensil that had yet to touch his high grade glazed petro-rabbit.

Proteus slowly chews chunks of soft, spicy Trilium minerals. Stares at Sentinel. Chews and swallows and asks, “Are you drunk?”

Sentinel does not respond. The utsenil tips just slightly in his hand. “I…” he trails off.

Proteus realizes Sentinel does not know how he got here, or what he is even doing. “You’re overcharged,” he says sharply before taking a sip of his high grade. “You went out with your minions and celebrated privately last night, didn’t you?”

"It’s. A possibility."

"… You’ve been overcharged the entire day." Which meant he was plastered during that important, two hour long meeting with the Femax ambassador earlier.

Sentinel squints. He looks down at his food and squints again. “Is this mine?” he asks. He has a hard time concentrating and seeing straight; Sentinel goes to gently poke his dish with his fork, just curiously, but still drunk, a tiny poke turns into a hard jab that flips the plate over and spills petro-rabbit and soup all over the table. The squishy eye of the cooked rabbit (considered a delicacy) falls in Proteus’s high grade with a tiny  _plip_.

One of Proteus’s browplates slowly climbs high and dramatically under his chevron. “Exquisite.”


	6. Puppet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proteus/Nominus drabblet

Nominus’s hands encircle Proteus’s small hips, pulling the senator closer to his massive frame. He has to dip down to kiss Proteus, seated prim and proper in his lap in his council chambers’ seat. The rest of the room is empty and quiet and still, just the two of them, their engines softly thrumming.

They kiss slow and deep, never breaking away for more than half a second or less. Sometimes they last a minute, and sometimes Nominus gets a little greedy, swooping in for a little more. Proteus simply chuckles and gives that demanding tongue a tiny nip. Nominus obediently relaxes again, pressing a smirk against the senator’s lips.

Nominus’s hands slowly climb up Proteus’s back, over jet-turbine pack; pinching playfully at wing-flaps until the senator is moaning and wriggling in his lap. Nominus stirs, and that neediness returns; his kisses, still deep, become clumsy and desperate. His hands squeeze Proteus’s sides, but Proteus stops him with a hand on his chest, over the swirling, glowing orb.

"I just want this," Proteus whispers against the Prime’s lips. It takes Nominus a moment to realize what he means.

"Always such a tease," Nominus smirks. One finger idly draws circles over Proteus’s backstrut. He’s not used to not getting what he wants. But he’s patient with Proteus, and so he eases off a little, and kisses him slowly again.

Proteus smiles. His hand remains on the Prime’s chest, over the Matrix nestled beneath. He only wants this.


	7. A Good Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was: "you fell asleep."

Sentinel reacted instinctively, without restraint.

Even half-asleep, he was quick and precise. The moment he felt pressure on his chest, sudden and unexpected— It was a blur of speed; darkness, as he acted without even opening his optics. It happened in a split second; his arm lunged out, struck whatever had snuck up on him; he kept his arm firmly in place, pinning the unlucky sod against the wall by the throat.

Fortunately, Sentinel stopped himself before crushing the intruder’s throat. His optics whirred online, bright and glowing; he looked over to see who he had pinned against the wall. Sentinel was still rebooting, and it took him a minute to register the familiar face and energy signature—funny how readings told him it was an ally, but Sentinel knew better.

He wasn’t shocked, though, nor apologetic, as he held Proteus against the wall. Though he did lessen the pressure on the senator’s throat. Proteus’s fingers dug into his wrist, but they did not pry, or even struggle. An instinctive response, then. And instead of horror and fear on his face, the senator looked… amused. Strained, and obviously in pain, but certainly neither horrified or afraid.

Proteus was smiling.

Sentinel blinked, face remaining neutral. He lowered his arm, and Proteus instantly plopped into a sit beside him. Proteus rubbed and kneaded his pinched fuel lines, fingers assessing the denting in the dermal plating. Nothing serious.

"You fell asleep," Proteus stated, clearing his vocalizer. He smirked dryly. "But, really, Sentinel—the floor?"

Sentinel snorted. “It’s cool against my chassis.” Stress had been overheating his system; he just needed to lay down for a moment, relax, focus on lowering his core temperature. But it seemed he got a little  _too_  comfortable.

Proteus chuckled. “Well, nap time’s over.”

"You knew what I would do."

Proteus stared a moment; his grin reappeared, quaint and innocent. “Maybe I just had a little kink in my neck I needed adjusting?” he teased.

Sentinel leaned toward him. “Next time you may not be so lucky.”

Proteus met him halfway, placing a hand over the Prime’s. “Is that a threat? Or a promise?” he asked. His lips lingered an inch from Sentinel’s. “Because both sound wonderful.”


	8. A Steady Steed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "you'll have to carry me." Warning for gore.

Sentinel practically felt the life drain from the mech he was strangling.

Just a little more pressure, and— Energon splashed across Sentinel’s chest and face; a grotesque  _pop_  and something hit and bounced off the dirty ground with soft _tunk-tunk-tunks_. Sentinel stared at it a moment before casually letting the decapitated corpse go. Its fingers twitched a few seconds before going completely still.

The soft, pained hiss caught Sentinel’s attention; he turned, still stoic though painted in energon and viscera from the other corpses littering the alley. Proteus sat against the far wall, cursing bitterly; hand clutching at his bleeding side. He looked more put out than hurt.

Sentinel strode up to the senator, squatted. Proteus winced, but allowed his bodyguard to peel back his hand, get a good look at his wound. A deep gash in his armor and plating, nicking a fuel line. Nothing fatal, but he was still bleeding.

"H-How hor… horrible," Proteus croaked, "ru-ruined my… p-paint job. S’n-new." He pushed his hand back down on the gash, over the ruptured fuel line.

Sentinel checked Proteus over; aside from the cut along his chest and a few dings and dents, he was in otherwise perfect condition.

"G-Get out… here… before c-cleaning crew…" Proteus scowled, teeth grit. "Y-You’ll have to… to c-carry me."

Sentinel wordlessly nodded. He gently scooped the senator up in his arms, minding his wound. Proteus exvented loudly; closed his optics, opened them to meet Sentinel’s gaze fixed on his face. “I—I’ll be a… alright,” he smirked, teasing just a little.

Sentinel snorted. He held Proteus close to his chest, turning away. He felt the decapitated head  _crunch_  under his foot, optics popping free and gushing energon. He did not even flinch or pay the mess any mind; ducked into the shadows to the nearest hospital.


	9. In Life & 'Til Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "nervous." Includes horror version and fluff version. Nominus/Proteus

And when the fog parts, Proteus finally realizes where he is and what has happened to him.

Though frozen in place on the ground, he still trembles; optics wide, horrified, and he looks so pathetic, just as he did before Starscream blew a hole in his head. (Shockwave’s laughing at him from somewhere, he knows.)

But, it’s not the endless grey, it’s not the fog, it’s not the fact he knows where he is,  _what_  he is—none of that has him on edge, on the verge of crying, filled with terror.

Nominus—it’s Nominus, he knows.

What’s left of him; what hasn’t been blown and melted away. Plating and armor mostly gone, stripped down to expose chunks of bare skeletal struts and shredded actuators with dangling circuits and severed cords. What plating is left is charred black, singed, only a few flecks of his coat paint peeking through ripped holes. What looks like sheer cloth and fabric hanging from his arms, his shoulders, around his neck, is torn sheets of mesh and insulation, stained black-purple from soaking up energon and fuel before it had been drained from his exsanguinated body. Nominus’s face is hideous and twisted up, twisted out, a huge gash exposing the entire right side of inside his mouth, shattered dental plates, half a burned tongue, the zig-zagging winding slash riding up to his right audiol; just above it, a giant hole, a giant, gaping hole where his brain module exploded and melted right into the side of his cranium from the welding heat. One optic bobs by thin, frayed wires from a socket, the other cracked but still in place.

That one, single functioning optic was staring down at him with an emotion that fit no description, but Proteus knew did not bode well.

Nominus lumbers ever closer; he moves slow, miraculously with one leg twisted around and hanging by threads at the knee. He moves slow but he comes in quick, and Proteus knows it doesn’t make sense, but logic and sense do not apply here.

"Nom… Nominus…" Proteus swallows. He scoots back, hands groping blindly at the ground behind him, dragging himself away with each step the zombie took. "Nominus, I— P-Please—" He feels coolant well and sting in his optics. Something warm and wet bubbles in a hip seam, leaking down his thigh. He doesn’t care. "I’m— I didn’t mean t-to…" Proteus was an excellent liar, but for some reason, he can’t come up with an excuse. He can’t think, he can’t concentrate, and he doesn’t even notice energon pour down his face from his own head wound.

Nominus stops inches before the senator. He stops and stares and says nothing. Proteus is quivering, coolant tears mixing with the energon streaks along his cheeks and chin. Drip-drip of black fluid falls from his thigh. His spark (or whatever was left in his chamber) is thrashing in his chest; like its host, unable to run from this nightmare.

Slowly, Nominus kneels, and Proteus’s small gasp hitches as he listens to straining, groaning metal and hydraulics click unhealthy into place. Nominus reaches out a skeletal hand, pinkie missing, blown off. Proteus watches, helpless, and he can’t help but break out into an undignified sob, closing his optics as tight as possible, as Nominus takes him gently by the chin. One finger idly, gently stroking beneath it.

"There’s no need to be nervous," Nominus hushes, and his voice is disturbingly clear and humble. "Didn’t I tell you I loved you?"

Proteus invents sharply. He forces his optics open a crack.

Nominus is smiling—or the equivalent with his injuries. But there’s something sinister in his one-eyed gaze that tells Proteus not all is forgiven.

"I’ll take care of you," Nominus hums, and his free hand takes Proteus by an upper arm, squeezes so tight that the senator almost screams. "We’re together again, after all. And that’s how we’ll stay, this time."

* * *

 

"Are you nervous?"

Nominus scowls, looking up from his pacing to Proteus at the door. The senator is grinning, always so damn smug.

"Of course not," Nominus grunts. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Frustrated, but certainly not nervous."

Proteus crosses the room. “It’s to be expected, sometimes,” he assures, places a hand on Nominus’s arm. “Politics can get rather nasty, and personal.”

Nominus smirks. “Personal—you don’t say?”

Proteus chuckles with him. “You’re still new to this gig,” he says, gig referring to being the Prime, “but you’ll get used to all those conniving, whiny little turbo-weasels soon enough.” He steps back and smiles, but it’s charming and warm. “They’re easy to poison once you’ve got them trusting you just enough.”

Nominus steps up to Proteus, bows down until they’re almost face to face. A large hand runs down Proteus’s arm, moving to cup a hip. Proteus chortles as he’s abruptly yanked closer, until their lips touch, and he returns the kiss with no hesitation but the same passion.

Proteus breaks the kiss first, and Nominus looks slightly put out. But he doesn’t sweep in for another, respects Proteus’s space. “You’ll have them eating out of your hand in no time,” the senator says, and his lips lightly, ever so lightly, teasingly brush his , “my esteemed Prime.”

"Say that again," Nominus purrs, and feels suddenly very hot.

"Prime, sir," Proteus replies, respectfully, "I am ever your humble servant."

Nominus’s engine wwhirsloudly with a click. He dives in for another kiss, but a hand stops him, and again, Nominus looks annoyed but does not protest. “After,” Proteus says, and he guides that hand on his hip down, down between his legs, and both gasp, “after you’ve laid their bodies to rest.”

Nominus could wait that long, he decides.


	10. Out is Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairing; guest starring Megatron. Prompt was "impaled" for gore meme. Felt it was okay to add to the collection.

What brought Sentinel back from his shocked daze was the energon dripping from his lips.

Colored returned to the world around him. He could see the mech in front of him, holding… Sentinel’s wide, frightened optics fell, following the sword’s hilt in the mech’s hand, down its length, where a majority of the blade was buried inside him—he didn’t need to look back to know the edge was sticking out his, well, back.

Energon, oil, and coolant rolled lazily down the sword. The flow picked up as the seconds past. And Sentinel… was he in shock? He… He couldn’t really feel the pain, but he knew it was there. He wasn’t quite sure what to say—what to do—he just…

Time had frozen. A sword was impaled through Sentinel’s torso.

"How does it feel?"

Well, Sentinel did feel the sword being pulled out of his body, taking organs and chunks of mesh with it. The gush of energon made a disturbing splat noise when it hit the ground. A  _plop_ —no, that wasn’t fluid dripping. That was— Oh.

It seemed his fuel pump had severed, and was now hanging loose from his belly. Half curled up like a snake on the ground which was coated with 70% of the fluids once inside his body.

"How does it feel?" Megatron asked, again, and lowered the gore-coated sword by his side.

Sentinel opened his mouth. It tasted bitter, all that energon in his throat. 

 _As you would expect_ , Sentinel told himself, his head suddenly feeling very light,  _not very good. Idiot._

It wasn’t the best of last words—well, last thoughts. But at least, as he fell, crumbling to the ground, he hadn’t gone out sobbing and whimpering.


	11. Turned Tables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proteus-centric. Prompt was "Empurata" for gore meme.

Let the punishment fit the crime, Proteus supposed.

Though, if he were not in the middle of struggling, panicking, and pleading for his life, he might have been amused. Got to hand it to Starscream—didn’t really think he was an intelligent or very creative mech. But instead of blowing a hole through Proteus’s head, Starscream had much bigger plans for it.

More creative, too.

Of course they weren’t entirely brutal. They had to make sure the shock and pain would not kill their patient. How awkward to see Lobe and his minions now doing to Proteus what he’d done to hundreds for so many long years.

Things were extremely more different on the other side of the operating table.

Pain receptors dull, and soon Proteus could not feel anything below his neck. His optics switched off; maybe on their own, maybe from a sedative, maybe because they were being surgically removed from his head.

Proteus quite loved his head. He was, well, very attached to it. He had such an extravagant chevron, too. People often complimented it.

If Proteus wasn’t attempting one last ditch effort to stop Lobe— _friend, dear comrade_ —to spare him, to stand by his loyalty and throw Starscream out—he might have been disappointed the chevron would unlikely be included with his new head.

Time meant very little under sedation, and Proteus remembered never wanting to wake up again. He’d rather be dead. But they didn’t mess with his brain—no shadowplay, no tweaking. Proteus’s ugly personality matched perfectly with his new ugly head and its one yellow optic. The gavel for a right hand was hilarious; truly hilarious, guys. A judge of others who no longer held power, it was useless, it was a mockery, it was a reminder of just how far he’d fallen.

They kept his personality whole because Proteus would be too proud to visit a suicide assist clinic. Too vain to allow anyone to take his life. And maybe they added a couple measures to ensure he wouldn’t go too far in his suicidal ideations.

No point in keeping him alive to suffer if it was so easy to off himself.

Which was worse, Proteus wondered these days. Which was worse? This hellish experiment he’d been through, or now finding himself trying to survive in a war where one side was everything he fought to destroy; aforementioned side recognizing him still (well, most did), who’d rather blow his second head off than allow him on their team.

Go to the Autobots, maybe? Pride. Or fear. He wasn’t sure. Maybe both. Their new leader was that former Rodion officer, Orion Pax. Optimus Prime now; Sentinel’s reluctant but much more noble successor. Go to him? Go to Orion—Optimus now—after all the things he did to the Prime’s best friend and closest confidant? The list went on, too.

Laughable. Proteus laughed a lot, hiding out in the ruins of Iacon, relying on scrounging up energon or stealing from others.

It was funny until it wasn’t.

Proteus still wasn’t sure what he felt when that Autobot rescue team found him. When Optimus Prime—the mech knew who he was, of course he would—stepped forward, and lowered his gun instead of firing it. When the Autobot leader held out his hand and offered to help the shamed, ridiculed senator.

Proteus had gone through Empurata. He lost all power he ever had. He spent years on the street, fearing each new day would be his last. But with Optimus Prime offering to help him, to save him…

He’d never been more ashamed and miserable in his life.


	12. Forehead Kiss

Sentinel had been waiting a very long time for this.

The giant mech stood before the entire world, all attention trained on him, as he stated his vows and made his promises.

An age old tradition before one became Prime. With his stern face, determined expression, one iron fist over his spark, he promised all of Cybertron to serve them as their leader to the very end; to follow in the footsteps of his predecessors, to hold his people and their world above all else.

A new era was dawning, and Sentinel Prime vowed it would be one of liberation.

The power rushing through him was potent, but Sentinel was a warrior before all else. He could handle the pressure. The world cheered when the Matrix was finally settled in his chest, and never before did Sentinel feel so weak yet invincible at the same time.

A new Prime was born, and one with so much hope riding on his shoulders.

Sentinel pitied them all.

The ceremony lasted a good five hours; as the spectacle died down, Sentinel Prime bid his large audience and the viewers at home a good night, and the promise of a bright new dawn. The auditorium shook with the cheers and stomping of the crowd seeing him off.

"Look at them out there. They love you."

Sentinel looked up just as he stepped into the dark wing. Senator Proteus nodded respectfully at his fellow politicians sweeping past them. He waited until it was only the two of them, the new Prime’s bodyguards keeping to the shadows as per instructed.

Proteus strode up to Sentinel, long ceremonial cape shorter compared to the one pouring off the new Prime’s back like a pair of folded wings. “I knew I chose right,” he chuckled, reaching up a hand to cup Sentinel’s cheek.

Sentinel knew what he wanted. He ducked down, eye level with the smaller mech; Proteus pulled him a little closer, raising up to press a light kiss to the center crystal of the head piece strewn across Sentinel’s helm.

Sentinel shut his optics, engine humming softly.

"Congratulations, Sentinel Prime."


	13. Cheek Kiss

"The vote is up by twenty-nine percent."

Sentinel was honestly surprised. He looked up from his desk as Proteus glided over, offering the Prime his datapad.

Sentinel took it, read it over. His optics widened. “… How?” he mumbled.

Proteus smirked. “You never ask the magician how he does his tricks,” he said, easily plucking the ‘pad from Sentinel’s hands. “Your bill is sure to pass now, however.”

Sentinel just blinked. He shook his head, laughing softly. “You…”

"Without me, where would you be?" Proteus smiled, a wicked but playful little thing. He tilted his head away from Sentinel as a silent request his comrade knew all too well.

Sentinel leaned over and promptly kissed Proteus’s cheek with a grateful purr.

Proteus chuckled, optics lidded. “You’re welcome.”


	14. Back of Hand Kiss

Proteus slammed the news-zine on Sentinel’s desk. “You have no right to do this!” he snarled, blue optics wild and furious.

Sentinel calmly sat his datapad aside, took the zine; read it over, pushed it back across the desk. “I’ve every right,” he replied, finally, bridging his hands. “As you very well know.”

"You—"

"It’s just I didn’t ask for your permission first. Isn’t that right?" Sentinel cocked an optic ridge, remaining ever so cool and collected. "I did nothing wrong. You just weren’t there to make the decision for me."

"Damn you!" Proteus snapped. "You’ve no idea what you’ve do—"

"I discussed this with Senator Shockwave before making any big decisions, mind you," Sentinel interjected again. And that look of incredulous disgust on Proteus’s handsome faceplates almost made him break his calm facade to grin. "You were at a conference in Vos. I figured you wouldn’t mind."

Proteus’s lips pulled back to show teeth. “How dare you—!” He grunted as Sentinel roughly took him by the hand, yanking it across the desk. He watched as the Prime slowly rose to his feet, never breaking eye contact.

"But you know I did what was right. So, please; don’t be upset." Sentinel bent down to daintily kiss one knuckle. "I still prefer you over him, after all."


	15. Fingertips Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nominus/Proteus

Nominus woke with a hum, optics slowly powering online. For a moment, he laid there, listening to the quiet shuffle of feet. He sighed, slowly rolling onto his back; watched as Proteus crossed the room, getting ready for work.

"Always up bright and early. Such a diligent worker."

Proteus stopped, turning. “Was I too noisy?” he asked.

Nominus smiled lazily. “Not at all.” He exvented, sitting up in the berth. “I should be getting up myself. No rest for the Prime, after all.”

"You’ve ten kliks until you need to get ready," Proteus explained, polishing off his chest. "I would say fifteen, but that risks the chances of you being late, if I know your pattern well enough."

Nominus smirked. He said nothing, simply gesturing the senator over with a wave of two fingers. Proteus obediently crossed the room, stood beside him. Nominus took Proteus’s hand, gently extending the digits so he could chastely kiss the soft pads. “You know me so well, Proteus,” the Prime chuckled, predatory, playful optics gazing up at his subordinate.

Proteus smirked. “You’re just too damn predictable, sir,” he teased. 


	16. Shoulder Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nominus/Proteus

Proteus’s optic ridge twitched; his slight agitation had grown into full blown frustration. He’d been working on these reports for an hour now—something that could have been easily avoided if Decimus wasn’t both lazy and dimwitted.

Proteus momentarily considered assassinating the old bastard before returning to his tedious work.

"Your backstrut must be aching."

Even from behind him, Nominus could see Proteus’s chevron twitch and flare upright as he straightened in his seat. Nominus chuckled, sealing the remaining space between them. “You know just how ridiculously cute that is, right?” he taunted, large fingers clasping around Proteus’s shoulders.

Proteus snorted. “I’m working on it,” he grumbled, tiredly.

Nominus laughed, softly. “I rather you didn’t,” he hummed. One hand slid down Proteus’s arm, allowing the Prime to dip down and kiss his shoulder. He turned his head, lips barely brushing against Proteus’s audiol. “I’m a bit fond of it.”


	17. Spine Kiss

With an exhausted yawn, Proteus languidly stretched out on the berth on his belly. He hummed, a happy noise deep in his throat; crossed his arms and rested his head on them. He needed to take a shower, but… that could wait a few more minutes.

Proteus cracked his optics open with a soft chuckle; the larger mech was crawling over him, stopping to bow down and kiss the small of his back. “My,” Proteus sighed, “I didn’t take you for the cuddling type, Sentinel. How… sentimental.”

Sentinel said nothing, continued trailing grateful, small kisses up Proteus’s backstrut. Paused just between his shoulders before dipping down his shoulder. Just enough space for Proteus to turn his head, meeting those pampering lips in a real kiss.


	18. Throat Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nominus/Proteus

Nominus’s optics were wide, apertures tiny pinpricks of light. He stared up at the senator in complete, utter horror. As he lay there in the back of the ambulance van, broken, battered, almost shot to pieces—he knew.

And here he thought he knew Proteus.

Proteus smiled down at the terrified, betrayed Prime. “It was always in the cards, I’m afraid,” he purred, the back of his fingers lovingly trailing down one charred, half-melted cheek.

Nominus’s optics managed to widen even more; the fragile hair-thin cut along his right optic split open, instantly filling with coolant.

"Your sacrifice will not be in vain, Nominus," Proteus reassured, still grinning wickedly. He leaned forward, shadow spreading over the wounded Prime. "Close your optics; sink under the waters. And before you go…" He took Nominus’s shattered chin in his hand; squeezed, cracking more of the armor as he turned his head aside.

Nominus winced, managing a weak, dirty whimper.

Proteus kissed the overworked sternoline, just below a tiny cut still trickling energon. He sat back, slowly opening his optics, face hovering above Nominus’s. “You always liked it when I kissed you there.”

Proteus let the Prime’s chin go and sat back.

Nominus’s optics were lidded, unconsciousness fast creeping over his CPU.

"Sweet dreams, Nominus," Proteus hummed, and his grin was the last thing Nominus saw before darkness overtook him.


	19. Stomach Kiss

Sentinel made a fine Prime—under duress, under any sort of pressure, he remained stoic. Aloof. 

Even when he had a senator wriggling in his lap, groping at sensitive sockets and equipment, suckling at a tube along his throat. His expression stern, frown a perfect flat line, optics firm and serious, gazing ahead. Hands remained stubbornly on the arm rests of his command chair, and he did not even spare a glance at Proteus now crawling down his body, kissing abdominal armor.

Proteus kissed his chest, swept in for another—immediately froze. Sentinel cursed internally as the senator glanced back at his right hand from the corners of his violet optics. “… You twitched,” Proteus stated. He slid easily off the Prime. “Another fifteen kliks.”

Sentinel growled, trying not to crush his arm rests in pure frustration.


	20. Gun Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally bellybutton kiss, buuuut...

Proteus studied the barrel of the gun currently held point blank in the middle of his face. He thought a moment, head tilting… He leaned in, lips brushing against the barrel. Experimental touch complete; Proteus slowly slid his mouth around the barrel, taking just an inch. Sucked playfully, tongue rubbing up against the cold steel.

Proteus took the gun another inch. Rocking back and forth on his knees, lathering the object with streaks of coolant. He sat back, tongue trailing around the spherical barrel, just slightly pushing inside before sweeping in to take the damn thing almost done his entire throat.

"Enough!"

Proteus smiled smugly, sitting back as he watched Sentinel scramble, gun falling to his side. His optics had turned a painful, flustered purple. “You don’t— This isn’t how you handle a hostage situation!” he snapped.

Proteus wiggled, hands twitching in the cuffs behind his back. “You’re right,” he sighed, and for a moment looked repentant—only to put on that sly leer again. “I should use something other than my mouth.”


	21. Offer Me

Sentinel was rarely surprised by anything, but honestly, the last thing he’d expect to see was Proteus’s spark. Exposed freely by the very mech himself.

"You…" Sentinel blinked, speechless.

Proteus was rarely ever coy or shy or nervous. But he looked like all three. Still, he kept eye contact with the Prime. “Only if you want it,” Proteus said, though there was a crack in that professional tone of his. The blue of his spark pulsed, lighting up the space between them. “And only if the favor is returned.”

Sentinel swallowed. “Why?” he asked, finally.

Proteus smiled; though smarmy, it was playful, as if he were about to tell an affectionate joke. “Makes sending you orders both easier, and much more interesting.”


	22. Invite Me

"I’m not saying you’ll like it. But you  _do_  have to go.”

Sentinel snorted, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. Two drones were currently polishing his arms, the rest of his frame shiny and looking brand new.

"I can’t very well endorse a Prime that doesn’t know how to speak publicly, you know," Proteus stated, getting his own plating preened.

"That’s not an issue; I can speak well." Sentinel was more about action, but that didn’t mean he was stupid or socially defunct. "These parties are pretentious and tedious."

Proteus smirked. “Some people call  _me_  pretentious, you know.”

"Yes," Sentinel agreed, face stony, "but at least I get to frag you."


	23. Call Me

When Proteus next powered on his optics, he was no longer staring into darkness. Vision adjusted and cleared, and rather it was Sentinel’s face greeting him back to consciousness.

Proteus quickly noted Sentinel looked quite upset.

"Look what they…" Sentinel trailed off with a growl, and Proteus just now realized his hands were touching, holding his face.

Proteus smiled, though it hurt. “Is it really that bad?” he asked. At least the gash in his cheek stopped bleeding.

Sentinel’s expression went cool again. “Not as bad as theirs.” And Proteus believed him. He couldn’t see much in the room where he’d been confined the past four hours, but he could smell the thick stench of spilled energon. And lots of it.

"Hostage negotiations never work out," Proteus tutted. "You think they’d learn by now."

Sentinel huffed. He carefully lifted Proteus in his arms, making sure not to further aggravate his injuries. “I’ve a medic on stand-by,” he stated.

"Be careful," the senator chuckled, "don’t slip in the mess."


	24. Martyr

Sentinel choked on the energon welling in his throat, sending a small spray of droplets across his face. He grimaced, optics squeezing tight as one trembling, weak hand touched the outer edge of the giant, gaping hole in his chest.

"Your services went beyond my expectations, but I’m afraid I will no longer be requiring them."

Sentinel snapped his optics open, looking up in horror and shock at the blank-faced mech standing over him.

Proteus sighed and pat the giant Cybertronian guard on the arm, sending him away. “And it really is such a pity,” the senator said, kneeling before the heaving, dying, former Prime. “I genuinely liked you. I dare say I was even a little  _smitten_ by you.  _But_.”

Proteus took one of Sentinel’s hands, gently stroked his knuckles and fingers with a sadistic tenderness that almost felt genuine. “You were always expendable. If someone better were to come along…” His eyes drifted toward the mech outside. “… Well. You understand. These dark times, we need a strong Prime.” He stopped stroking Sentinel’s fingers, laid his hand over his wound.

Sentinel winced.

Proteus leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You make a better martyr, darling, than a politician.”


	25. Morning After

Proteus had barely stirred from recharge when something gently tap-tapped against his forehead in little  _tinks_. He opened his optics, their light growing brighter by the second, before registering the object poking his crest as a tall glass of energon.

"Mm?"

"You’re going to be thirsty, what with stretching your throat tubes."

Proteus shivered at the deep voice; it matched perfectly with the low rumbling of Sentinel’s engine. The vibrations tickled down his backstrut, and he wiggled in the larger ‘bot’s lap.

"Thank you, Sentinel  _Prime_ ,” Proteus chuckled; his voice was a little hoarse, and his throat dry. He took the glass. Proteus tilted his head back; took a sip, meeting Sentinel’s blue gaze staring down at him. He smiled against the rim; dropped his head back down and exvented heavily. “I almost wished I could stay in today. To celebrate your wonderful succession.”

Sentinel’s large finger idly stroked Proteus’s hip. “This place would fall apart without us,” he said, lips brushing the back of the senator’s helm. “Even if we played hooky for just one day.”

Proteus chortled around his drink. “The same can be said about you, you know.” He invented, half-lidded optics watching the energon swirl in his drink. “Without me, where would you—”

Proteus allowed his head to be tugged up and back, the large hand wrapped beneath his chin; his smile remained as Sentinel kissed him. He opened his mouth, returned the kiss; soft, gentle, and it always amused Proteus that this cold bastard had a tender side. Even better, he was the only one who ever saw it—and he’d make sure he’d be the only one who ever would.

Proteus broke the kiss first, but did not move away, mouth still against Sentinel’s. “We’ve still got fifteen kliks,” he whispered, huskily, and guided the larger mech’s hand between his legs, along his thigh; Sentinel obediently picked open one interface panel door, exposing two sockets. Proteus raised a hand, slipped it up the side of Sentinel’s helm; the giant bot nuzzled into the touch, holding his hand there.

"Fifteen?"

Proteus whimpered as Sentinel probed one socket with expert grace and skill. “Make it twenty,” he said.

"T-Twenty-two."

"Even better."


	26. For the Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairing. Special guest star Shockwave. Prompt was "you can trust me."

Shockwave doesn’t make a noise outside an occasional grunt or growl; even as he’s forced on his knees, arms cuffed behind his back, his once pristine chassis covered in dings, dents, and sliced armor. The shadow that falls over him is cold and deadly, but he’s not afraid.

"I’m only doing what’s best for you," Proteus explains, standing before the imprisoned senator. He sounds, even looks apologetic and sympathetic. "You’ve become… emotionally unstable. A danger to both society  _and_ yourself. You need help. Please understand.”

Shockwave smirks. He turns his head and spits out rusty energon.

The doors open. Two gangling, menacing looking mechs push a stretcher inside the padded room. One unlocks the steel cuffs and straps on the gurney. The second leers over a syringe filled with something green and bright in his hand.

"Once this is all over with, Shockwave," Proteus says, and he’s smiling as two of Sentinel’s minions walk around him, forcing Shockwave up on his feet, "you’ll have a better outlook on life. You’ll be more in control, so to speak." He tilts his head; optics squint pleasantly, the edges of his grin curl. "You can trust me."

Shockwave sneers. He glances at the surgeon approaching him, needle raised. “A sedative?” he laughs dryly. “I didn’t think you’d be so kind.”

Proteus chuckles. “I may not have the warmest or gentlest of sparks,” he says, “but I’m no  _monster_ , Shockwave.”

Shockwave begs to differ.


	27. Under the Rain

Very little seemed to impress, or at least shock, Sentinel Prime.

Even as a youngling, he’d been trained and built to endure many-a great, horrible things. Brutally assaulting someone, killing and murdering–all a part of his job. The first time he felt a spark shrink in his hands, all bloodied with energon and scraps of internal mechanisms, Sentinel hardly felt a thing.

No, that wasn’t quite true. There was a certain giddiness, he remembered. It made him momentarily lightheaded. It sent a cool rush through his frame. Doing this–fighting, killing–it felt natural. _Right_. 

And, sometimes, it felt _really good._

But Sentinel was hardly ever afraid or nervous; tense, sometimes, but he’d been built in the thickest and non-impenetrable of armor.

Well, almost.

Yet… Here on this backwards planet, three galaxies from home, walking among alien natives smaller and simpler than him, it was a thunderstorm that ultimately stopped the so-called iron Prime to watch and wonder.

The lack of vibrations and squelching noises of large footfalls in the mud stopped Proteus. He turned around, peering out from under the tarp with a sour glower. As soon as they arrived, the alien politicians sent to greet them hurried them back to their village, as a sudden thunderstorm was rolling in from.

It rained hard on this planet, and it came down fast in thick sheets. The natives worried about their villages flooding, but this was hardly a concern to the Cybertronians. Nonetheless, it was an irritant, and Proteus hated getting wet. Especially with all that dust and dirt mixed in the rain and rising off the ground.

But Sentinel… The moment he heard that warning clap of thunder, spotted the streak of lightning from the corner of his optic, he stopped, looked to the sky, and watched the rain fall.

Proteus waited a few seconds. Sentinel had not moved, not even a twitch or puff of hydraulics. He remained motionless, like a regal statue, rain and bits of ice pelting down on his armor, soaking him to the seams. Yet his intense gaze remained on the alien heavens, watching lightning flicker behind the thick black clouds before bursting through in streaks and venous-shaped tendrils.

Now Proteus was a little worried. “What is it?” he shouted over the rain and thunder. He told his anxious translator to stop a moment before stepping beside Sentinel, keeping the tarp pulled like a hooded cloak around his frame. “We need to move!”

Sentinel blinked. “Wait,” he said in a deep rumble. “I’ve never…”

Proteus grimaced as rain hit his face. “We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm,” he growled, “and you want to stop and feel the rain?”

It hadn’t occurred to Proteus this was the first time Sentinel had ever been in any rain of any sort. He was still a young Prime, still had plenty of planets to visit; but in all his travels, he’d yet to experience a real, intense thunderstorm.

Proteus, on the other hand, was used to all sorts of weather. He visited a planet that rained crystals, once.

Their translator was urging them to move, and it was obvious he was cold, completely drenched to the bone. Proteus snapped back at him, then turned to Sentinel. “We have to go,” he said, reaching out and taking the Prime bravely by the wrist, “they say this storm will last a few days. You can play and dance in the rain all you want _after_ the negotiations. There’s plenty of ti–-”

Proteus’s optics widened as Sentinel suddenly yanked the tarp back off his head, exposing him to the dirty rain. He went to curse, but then the larger mech was bowing down, kissing him.

It was… odd.

Proteus broke it quickly. “Oh! It tastes disgusting!” he whined, tugging the tarp back over his head. “What was that for!?”

“I’m not sure,” Sentinel replied, wiping water from his helm, “it just felt… natural." 

Or maybe he just liked to see Proteus sulking like a wet cat after being such a nag.


	28. Under Influence

Sentinel woke with a groan and a hard pounding in his head.

"Ah. You’re up. Finally.”

Sentinel slowly powered on his optics, keeping them dim. 

“We thought you were dead.”

“Where… am I?” Sentinel mumbled.

Proteus stood beside the berth the Prime was resting on. “Iacon City Hospital,” he answered. “Someone attempted to poison your energon.” He smiled lightly.

Sentinel wasn’t sure why he was smiling, especially given the fact he apparently nearly died. “I don’t remember anything…” he grumbled.

“It was a crude job done by an amateur who obviously didn’t know his poisons,” Proteus chuckled. “Instead of going lax before eventually falling into a catatonic state that would inevitably lead to death in what they thought would be an hour after, the poison actually made you a bit more… energetic.”

Sentinel blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“You went on a rampage. Suddenly, your optics turned white and then you were destroying the council chambers,” Proteus explained. “You did quite a lot of damage. And you’re not the only mech who was rushed to the hospital.” He snickered, couldn’t help himself. “Shockwave tried to calm you down–- oh, you should have seen what you did to his face!”

Sentinel was not amused, at all. “Did you catch the mech who poisoned me?” he demanded.

“We did.”

“Where is he?”

“Currently downtown in a prison cell.” Proteus nudged his hip against the berth. “I figured you’d want to speak with him before we sent him to the compression chambers.”

Oh, yes. He definitely wanted to “talk” to this guy. Sentinel hesitated to ask, but… “Did I hurt you?”

Proteus was surprised by the question, considering he was wearing an eye patch over his brand new, still adjusting left optic. He realized, then– probably the sedatives, maybe Sentinel’s vision was dimmed… “No,” he said, closing his single optic, “you didn't get the chance.”

Sentinel exvented, relieved. He closed his optics. “Good,” he said. He didn’t care what he did to the others–-to Shockwave, to at least ten more senators. They could be in critical condition and it wouldn’t matter in the least to him. So long as Proteus was okay.

“Go back to sleep,” Proteus said, adjusting the recharge cable plugged into Sentinel’s helm. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Sentinel grumbled something before slowly slipping into recharge. Always did, Proteus–-he always did.


	29. Under Duress

It’d been an honest to goodness civil discussion–at first. Just two colleagues discussing a minor disagreement with one another. That lasted ten minutes before things got a little more… heated. A discussion turned into a debate–and soon that professional-bordering-on-personal debate turned into a loud argument.

It took them twenty minutes before they started yelling and cursing at one another. The senator had jumped from his high and mighty seat at his desk, now face to face with his coworker. Though their words were vicious and volumes uproarious, anything dirty or below the belt was addressed indirectly. Insults about intelligence, even appearance, spoken passively in a very aggressive conversation.

The belittling soon trumped everything else they had to say. The original topic of their once polite and civil discussion was long abandoned. But even if they hadn’t resorted in using filthy profanity or just outright saying what they were skirting around, it was obvious the space between them was lessening and lessening, and soon–-

Proteus grunted, suddenly slammed against the wall.

“Just–-shut up!” Shockwave barked in his fellow senator’s face, hands pinning Proteus’s arms at his sides.

For a moment, the two simply panted, their processors and vents reeling from all the yelling and screaming. Their chests rose and fell against each other–inhale, exhale–-just about flush together with only a few inches between them.

Proteus and Shockwave never unlocked gazes, however. Furious, their optics burned, the corners nearly white.

Then, slowly, an oily, terrible little grin split Proteus’s faceplates. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he said, voice raspy, “we won’t make it to a bed.”

Shockwave looked both horrified and offended. Proteus chuckled; it wasn’t his best of lines, but at least it threw the annoying little shit off for a moment. And it wasn’t like he didn’t mean–-

Proteus winced as Shockwave took him roughly by the arm, squeezing tight. “No,” Shockwave hissed, twisted lips so close to Proteus’s, “the floor will suit you just fine.”

Proteus looked horrified and offended… but not for very long.


	30. Understanding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another surprise guest.

“Pristine cover-up, as usual.”

Proteus tried to contain the giddiness in his large grin, standing before Nova at his desk.

Nova Prime pushed the report back over to the young senator. “I was beginning to worry for a moment. The rest of the senate seems about as useful as a case of alloy hives. But you–you never seem to fail me. Turning the story around–-the victim becomes the victimizer, the press eats it up, no one is the wiser.” He sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest. “Excellent job, Proteus.”

Proteus’s spark flared, warm and happy and flattered. “Thank you, Prime,” he said, “but it’s all in a day’s work. I am simply doing my job.”

“You can be modest for the people,” Nova stated, “but you know as well as I you’re radiating pride and glory.”

“If I need to work on being more subtle, sir, I–-”

“Seems we still need to work on reading people, however. Odd, considering you do so well with everyone else.”

Proteus blinked giant, bright blue optics innocently. “Excuse me?”

Nova smirked behind his mask. He gestured for the senator; an easy gesture to read. Proteus walked around the desk and to his side. He didn’t know what he meant by–-

Suddenly, a large arm was wrapped around his hips, pulling him down into Nova’s lap. Proteus sat back, but did not try to wiggle free.

“I’m flirting with you,” Nova stated, optics creasing and dimming.

Proteus looked shocked, awed, and even a little aroused.

“My technique may be a bit off; I’m not one to make passes, after all,” Nova said. He pressed a finger beneath Proteus’s chin, tilting his head back. “But, really; it hurts my feelings, a clever, young little thing like you not picking up my advances.”

Proteus slowly smiled. “You know I’d never intentionally try and disappoint you, Prime,” he apologized, and slowly wrapped smaller hands around Nova’s. He guided that finger to rest on his bottom lip, gaze dusky. “Allow me to apologize.”

Nova purred as Proteus slid the finger in his mouth, gently suckling on it.

“I look forward to your apology.”


	31. Sentimental

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I almost lost you."

Proteus woke with a startled gasp, rising off the berth in a full body arch. It felt like a jolt of power had been shot through his frame, right up his backstrut. His senses were suddenly hyper-sensitive; he could taste the electric discharge in the air.

Proteus’s white optics threatened to burn surrounding socket-plating before he suddenly fell back against the steel bed with a heavy sigh.

“We got ‘im!” the medibot cheered, pulling over the monitor displaying Proteus’s now active stats.

Sentinel was quiet–his vocalizer needed to reset from barking all those commands. No one had the guts to ask him to step out of the room, let the doctors do their work. Sentinel insisted on staying, keeping the surgeons on their toes; every time they faltered, he was quick to remind them that their lives were on the line, too, should Proteus die.

Now, it was quiet. The ruckus had settled, and so had Proteus’s vitals. Relaxed and healthy, if not a bit sluggish.

“He’s going to be okay, sir,” the medic explained softly, still a little shaky and on edge. Both Sentinel and their patient had given him quite the scare.

“Leave,” Sentinel ordered, and even though his voice was hoarse and quiet, it still felt like a booming threat. The medic swallowed, nodded, and ordered his team to leave the two politicians alone. Once it was just the two of them, the room mostly quiet save the beeping of the machines, Sentinel approached Proteus’s bedside.

Sentinel studied the unconscious mech for… he wasn’t really counting. After a moment’s consideration, he took one of Proteus’s hands in both of his, dwarfing it in size. He bowed his head, closed his optics, drew the hand closer to his lips–-

“Don’t… be so…”

Sentinel opened his optics. Proteus still had his closed, but he was smiling. “It’s not… your style…” he smirked weakly.

Sentinel stood up straight again, but did not let Proteus’s hand go. “I almost lost you,” he said.

Proteus didn’t respond; took a few seconds. “Notoriously… hard to kill…” he murmured in a raspy voice.

“Like a glitch-roach.”

Proteus couldn’t laugh, but his smile did widen a little. “How… rude…” he said, without any hurt in his hushed voice.


End file.
